


Flaming Locks of Auburn Hair

by Carmilla DeWinter (miladys_revenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), M/M, Sexist Language, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miladys_revenge/pseuds/Carmilla%20DeWinter
Summary: How Crowley decides it’s not just a J, after all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Flaming Locks of Auburn Hair

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Good Omens. Alpha read by schwertlilie81 (of ff.net). Not britpicked, we fall like Crowley etc. Feel free to pick away ^^

The plan had been to leave the Dowling estate just after Warlock’s tenth birthday. Francis was going to age out naturally, as his papers claimed he was actually past retirement age. As far as Crowley knew, Aziraphale had made an elaborate plan for timing the increasing complaints about his knees.

Unfortunately, Crowley had assumed that nannies had a natural expiration date. Unless you were nannying the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of This World, and Lord of Darkness. While Harriet Dowling had asked Ms Ashtoreth Crowley to continue part-time after Warlock had turned seven, she seemed reluctant to let Crowley off entirely. Obviously she preferred making money by business consulting (no wonder Hell had chosen those parents) to overseeing her child’s homework and all those extra bits that made a well-rounded education. Despite Crowley’s nudging, Warlock had chosen piano lessons over guitar or violin. It was a good sign, Aziraphale said.

The boy also had a propensity towards mathematics and the natural sciences (which delighted Crowley to no end), and his only slightly supernatural power seemed to be a more than usual amount of spite in the face of Thaddeus Dowling. The child hated team sports with a passion, insisted on tennis as his exercise of choice, and had protested Thaddeus Dowling’s prodding that he was too old for a nanny.

So Crowley stayed on. While the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings etc. wasn’t all that bad, especially when you were the being he apparently considered a role-model (he was growing his hair out, “I want it long, just like you”), Crowley a) liked some time to himself, or rather with Aziraphale in the face of somewhat impending doom and b) shouldn’t become too fond of the boy. Just in case things went wrong.

If Crowley wanted to be laid off, he’d either have to quit himself (undesirable in case Warlock finally showed some true infernal power to avenge this slight) or up the game and get Harriet Dowling on his bad side.

An idea presented itself before Crowley had to even use his imagination. The night of Warlock’s tenth birthday (Crowley had gifted him the Big Book Of Astronomy, then bought one for himself), Crowley was just leaving when he passed Thaddeus Dowling loitering on the portico with some of the security personnel. Vaping, while the boys used good old-fashioned cigarettes.

“If it weren’t for that resting bitch face,” one guard said, apparently confident that Crowley wouldn’t hear over the crunching of his heels on the gravel. (Not that he needed to listen, because he was a demon and could sense what people wanted.)

“That ass ain’t half bad,” another commented, betraying his American descent.

“Tell me about it,” Thaddeus huffed. “Had to contend myself with knowing that’s probably garters under that skirt for years.”

So Thaddeus Dowling’s lusting was a little more on point than Crowley had thought. (He _was_ wearing garters and a matching black lace belt.) He wasn’t all that into the swapping of bodily fluids, but he’d been the embodiment of Temptation as long as he’d been stationed on Earth, and a certain amount of uninvited attention came with the title.

He turned his head just so, affected a bedroom look and the tiniest of smirks, swayed his hips just a tick more invitingly. Thaddeus stared, pupils wide with embarrassment and lust, while the staff engaged in some good-natured ribbing.

Sashaying towards the gate and the well-hidden Bentley, Crowley had the beginnings of a plan to get himself fired.

In fact, the Bentley seemed to wholeheartedly agree, if the choice of music was any indication. You didn’t get a lot of Dolly Parton in this vehicle. And the culprit even had the same hair colour!

Setting the plan in motion didn’t take much finesse―the real obstacle was that Thaddeus Dowling was a busy man and didn’t get all that many chances to ogle his son’s nanny. (Or rather, her backside.) Crowley posed and flirted whenever possible. On Halloween, after the party for Warlock and his friends, Thaddeus was lingering outside alone, vaping, when Crowley passed.

“You did well with Warlock’s costume,” Thaddeus said.

This probably was the first time ever he actually considered the boy’s costume―and just to chat the nanny up. How naughty.

Crowley smiled, slow and inviting. “Thank you.” He made a point not to demure and met the appreciative gaze head on.

“Yours, too. It’s actually quite… fetching.” Thaddeus Dowling used the e-cigarette to outline an hourglass shape.

The vintage cancan-girl number (with an actual antique corset, and a wide, ruffled skirt in blood red) wasn’t showing much skin, but it was deliberately chosen to be more approachable than the nanny’s usual severe looks. Now, Crowley inclined his head to show just a bit of neck, fluttered his invisible lashes and affected a pout. “Why, Mr Dowling…” One step closer, lean into the man just so, make him ignore the door was opening. “I hadn’t been aware you noticed my―”

Light spilled across the portico. “Nanny, you forgot―”

Leave it to Harriet to call after the nanny over her deliberately forgotten umbrella.

While the situation wasn’t all that compromising (yet, thankfully, because, eww), the mutual flirting was rather undeniable.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Crowley breezed. “Have a good night.” With that, he pranced down the gravel driveway in the secure knowledge that he wouldn’t be welcome any more.

Indeed, Harriet, looking tired, was waiting for him the next day, and asked him into her office to fire him. Crowley didn’t haggle and simply asked what they’d told Warlock and if he was allowed to say a proper good-bye to the child. Harriet accepted even that one condition most grudgingly.

So Crowley let Warlock cling to him for a good quarter of an hour and cry a little while telling him the lies Harriet had asked him to repeat. (She was overseeing the encounter like a particularly jealous hawk.)

If Crowley blinked away a couple tears himself, that was just because of some dust. Really.

The Bentley seemed to sense his mood, because it started its selection for the drive home with “I want to break free”.

A couple days later, Crowley had talked Aziraphale into seeing the new gallery of the Horniman Museum and spent the ride there telling him all about his slow flirt to freedom. The Bentley was courteous enough not to channel hop on the radio and played the DJ’s selection at an acceptable volume. Including, again, Dolly Parton complaining about a woman with auburn hair. Whose name just happened to start with a J.

This had to be a sign. This half-sentient car had a suggestion for Anthony J. Crowley, and well, wouldn’t do to meet the apocalypse without a proper middle name.

Aziraphale must have noticed Crowley’s waning attention. “What is it, my dear?”

“The J,” Crowley said. “It’s for Jolene, really.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale just looked at him. Crowley miracled away some sweat that insisted on pooling on his palms. He wasn’t getting nervous about an effing middle name, was he?

“It’s… quite lovely,” the angel eventually offered.

Not knowing what to do with that comment, because was that a compliment (and what kind of compliment was it anyway from A. Z. “you go too fast for me” Fell?) or just some reference that _jolie_ meant indeed _lovely_ or _pretty?_

Crowley grumbled something under his breath that was unintelligible even to himself, and stepped harder on the accelerator.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to whomever came up with “Anthony Jolene Crowley”. (asmuo of tumblr seems to be the oldest mention. Thanks!)


End file.
